Two Bits Worth
by Jasmine James
Summary: I've been called Two-Bit most of my life. Everyone thinks it's because I always get my two bits worth in but they couldn't be more wrong. I don't own The Outsiders. ONE-SHOT


**Just another one of those things that my odd little mind comes up with. Let me know what you think!**

**Please?**

**For me?**

**-Jasmine**

Two-Bit Mathews. It's my name; or at least it's what everyone calls me. Two-Bit Mathews. That's me. I'm the funny guy. All over the east side, that's what everyone calls me. Two-Bit. I don't know anyone knows me as anything other than that. Why would they? Two-Bit Mathews in my name, why should they call me anything different.

"Keith!" My Ma calls in.

I stop myself from groaning in annoyance, "What?"

Her voice is as shrill as always, "Will you go pick your sister up from school?"

I sigh, "Sure." Ma calls in a thank you but it doesn't really matter. I would have had to pick her up anyways, no one else would. I wasn't about to let my favorite (and only) baby sister walk home from school alone. Though things happen to people who walk alone on the east side. Us greasers have reached a sad point in time where we have to worry about our sisters and girlfriends being jumped.

I don't mind picking up my baby sister, I even like it. What bothers me is that I don't do it because I want to; I do it because I have to.

I guess that is what sets me off. I guess I'm bothered because doing this makes me weird. It only makes my family even more abnormal. I shouldn't have to do this. I should be out with friends right now, I should be laughing and having fun and not having to worry about how my baby sister is going to get places.

My Ma can't drive. That's never bothered me. It's not her fault, she just can't. Making her drive Kimmy anywhere would be just as bad as having her walk there. Possibly worse. But shouldn't there be another parent in my life who could drive her? Shouldn't there be a Pa in my life who could drive her? Yes, there should be, but there isn't. That's why it bothers me. That is why I mind. That's why I hate being called Keith.

My full name is Keith Thomas Mathews Jr. Even though my father has left, I'm still attached to him, by force. There is nothing more uncomfortable then talking to a teacher and them asking why you don't go by Keith. I just don't. I wish that they would just take that answer. I wish I didn't have to just shrug and say, "It's what people call me." I wish I didn't have to worry about what would happen when people believe that I have outgrown my nickname. I wish I wasn't a junior.

Darrel Curtis has it the exact opposite. He loves the fact that he is a junior. I know, because he talks to me about it. It makes him feel close to his father. It makes him feel as if, even though his father is dead, his father is there with him. I would say I wish I had those feeling about my father but I really don't. I really don't want my father in my life and I don't want to depend on him the way that Darry does because then... then I would be a fool. Just like my Ma.

I will not be a fool. I will never be a fool. I will never need my father like I know that my Ma still needs him. Keith. Even saying the name disgusts me. I don't want to meet him. I never have and I never will.

I know a few other kids who have a parent that ran out on them. They want to meet their missing Ma or Pa. I couldn't be more different.

Another reason I hate it.

Another reason I hate Keith Mathews.

I have never met my father. I have never seen him in the flesh and I don't ever want to. There is one picture of him in our house. It is sitting on my mother's bedside table. I have seen it only twice but I will never forget it. Why?

Because he looks exactly like me.

It isn't even the nice, "Oh you have the same nose!" We are literally identical. More so than Darry and his Pa. It disgusts me.

The picture of my father is burned into my brain and I sometimes find it the subject of nightmares. Though I don't often get nightmares or dreams, really. I usually get drunk enough that I've totally passed out and any subconscious wandering is completely ruled out. I can get drunk every night, can I? I have a baby sister depending on me.

I know my father's face. (Sadly.) So when I see him drive past me on the road, I sure was surprised.

And curious. I cannot help it when I suddenly veer right to follow him. I hate my father but why is he here? What right does be have to show up here? I am starting is get nervous. My father is driving further and further to the west end of Tulsa.

_Don't tell me,_ I pray, _don't tell me he's a..._

The car stops and I stop my car a bit down the street from it. My father walks into a restaurant. I look up at the sign. _Keith's Italian._ My father has a restaurant?

Well, I know one thing: I'll never eat Italian food ever again.

I watch as he gets out of the car with a brief case and I roll my eyes. He looks like me all right; except for one thing.

I don't look like a walking dick.

I don't really think about what I am doing. I would have been more careful if I had been; I would have remember that Kimmy was waiting for me at school. I still would have done it, though.

I pull out my show switchblade. Honestly, I have never cut anything with this knife. This is for show, only for show. Not now, though. It's broad daylight but no one is one the street. I look left and right down the road but not into the restaurant, silly of me. I guess I was just too eager. I brought the knife into the tire and slashed across the black rubber with joy. I had only slashed two tires until I was stopped.

"HEY!" A booming voice called out, "Hey! Stop that, you hood!" I curse under my breath. Great. Just great. A hand lands on my should and I turn around, yielding the knife wildly.

The shook is clear on his face and I am sure that he realizes that it is almost like looking into a mirror. Except for the fact that he looks like a grade A business owner with stick up his ass and I looked like a handsome greaser that makes all the girls swoon but other than that... identical.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Pa shouts. I narrow my eyes.

"I don't know." I spat, hoping that answer would be the one that would annoy him the most.

"You don't know? I should call your Pa so he gives you a good whipping." He tells me.

I almost laugh, "Shud up. For God's sake, shud up."

"Don't talk to me like that, hood! Who are you, anyways?" He demands.

I spit at his feet, "Keith Thomas Mathews."

"Well thank you, dirt, I know who _I_ am." He supplies.

"You didn't let me finish." I say with false cheerfulness, "I'm Keith Thomas Mathews, Junior."

Shock is even more clear on my fathers face. He even takes a step back. He holds his hands up to guard himself and I realize _why_ he had stepped back. I had thrust my knife at him.

"Keith?" He asks. I shake my head.

"Despicable." I tell him and turn around and leave, making sure to carelessly scrape my knife on the stupid shiny car.

"Keith!" My father calls back but I don't turn around. I simply walk away, my middle finger held high.

"KEITH!"

I give a laugh, "See ya, Pa! Wouldn't wanna be ya."

…

I pull up to the school to see Kimmy sitting alone on the steps. I sigh and check the clock. After seeing my Dad I couldn't help but blow off steam and get a little buzzed. I'm three hours late. I stop the car and roll down the window.

"Hey, Kimmy!" I call out and Kimmy looks up at me and frowns. He walked up and gets in the front seat.

"You're late, Two-Bit." She tells me.

"I know, Kimmy, I'm sorry." I apologize, "You know I forget things sometimes."

"I know." Kimmy says. Her voice is quiet as always. She's always been different from me. Quieter, more of a thinker; a bit like Ponyboy, really.

"Glad you waited." I told her. She knows what I mean. I hope she does, anyways. I hope shes knows how much she means to me. I hope she understands how glad I am that she waited and that she didn't risk getting jumped. I hope she knows that I'm trying. I hope she knows that _I_ know, I'm trying, and I know I'm not the type of brother that she needs. I'm trying, though.

I know I'm not the best person out their but I try; I try for her. I try because I don't want be the same kind of horrible person as my father. I'm in my father. I will never be my father. I'm Two-Bit. I constantly dread the day where I won't be Two-Bit. Do I like the nick name, Two-Bit? No. No, It makes me feel like I'm being labeled as a two cent whore or something. I don't like the name Two-Bit, but I'd take it over Keith any day. I worry about the day where I'll be "too old" to have a silly nick-name. I fear the day where I will have to be Keith Mathews.

"I know." Kimmy tells me. The car goes silent again and my pocket feels extremely heavy with the weight of the knife.

"Two-Bit?" Kimmy asks.

"What, darlin'?"

"How come you don't go by Keith any more?"

For once in his life, Kimothy Ann's older brother, had nothing to say.


End file.
